Why is it that each year we come back to hear this same Christmas story? What is it about this story that warms our hearts? What is it about this story that brings us peace and causes generosity?
Perhaps it is the song of angels and the light that shines in the darkness that quickens our sense of anticipation. Each year, do we look to the sky in hopes that these same angels will again appear? Do we look to see if a star, a bright star, shines in the night to give us a direction? I confess, I do.
Or maybe it is not the miraculous presence of angels that calls us back here each December 24th as much as it is the ordinary. Perhaps it is that which occurs every day in the world that draws are imaginations. Perhaps it is the birth of a new born child that stirs our hearts to hope.
Who has not held a baby and found a sense of expectation and hope as they look into the face of new life? Who has not found comfort as the newborn lays quietly, at peace in their arms? A newborn baby, tiny, vulnerable, needy catches our breath and our hearts like nothing else can.We hear this story, written two thousand years ago, and we pray that it is true. We pray that out of that moment in time will yet come peace on earth and good will for all of creation. We pray that we might yet believe.
But what do we do with such a story? Where can we go from here? Or do we simply wait for another year before we can hope again?
Some choose to leave this story in the past. A story that seems less than possible. A story that was written two thousand years ago and, except for one night a year, has no possible relevance for us today. Some will return each year, nod at the familiar words and walk away sad that it cannot be so.
Some choose to leave this story for the future. For a time when this Christ Child will return to save, renew the world. Or for a time when the angels usher them into the heaven where that Christ Child now reigns. Some come to hear the story simply to renew the hope, the dream of what is yet to come.
But what about today? Can we still, even now, even in the midst of all the pressures and demands and worries of today, take the story of a baby born into the world bringing the God of Love near, with us out into our night? Into our world? To our tables, our rooms, our work?
Maybe the challenge is that we too desire this child to rise up and become ruler of the world around us. We want this child to change our neighbors hearts so that they will believe as we do. We want this child to tame the empire around us. We want this child to feed the hungry, topple the tyrants, and beat the swords into plowshares for us. Is this not what the Messiah, the Christ Child, the Prince of Peace is supposed to do?
And when he does not, we are afraid it is all a lie. We are afraid that hope is useless. We are afraid that he is not the one. And we don’t know what to do with him and this Christmas story. And so we go home and pack it all away until next year.
Perhaps you remember the other part of this story. Two thousand years ago, people did not know what to do with this Jesus. He did not become the messiah they so desperately wanted him to be. And they too looked for ways to pack him away until another one would come to fulfill their expectations, their hopes, their dreams.
But do you know what is really amazing about this God of Love who Jesus manifested? Love, God’s unconditional love, keeps popping up in some of the most unlikely places. It comes looking like the one Mary Magdalene mistook for the gardener. It comes looking like one who waits to serve food to his friends. It comes in through locked doors. It blows in like a mighty wind. It rattles the earth and rolls away large rocks. And it is easy to miss.
This Love can also be bothersome. Let me explain. Bruce and I went away last week on vacation. When we came home, our two cats were very happy to see us. Too happy to see us in fact. Both of them insisted on joining us in bed. Their unconditional love for us tended to displace us from our regular spots. God’s love can be just as inconvenient, always trying to get my attention and move over.
God’s love never wants to leave me where I am. God’s love is always looking to move me closer to a place of loving God, loving my neighbor, loving my enemy. God’s love is always trying to get me to move over a little to make room for more of Jesus in my life. God’s love is always calling me to surrender to God’s way, love.
That’s what the Christmas story wants us to take home with us today. God’s love has moved in. It has set up camp next to us and is not going away. God’s love is nestled in the most unique places. In a feeding trough with the animals. In the garden. In a wedding celebration where the wine has run out. In the words of a Gentile woman asking for the crumbs from under the table. At a well in a town in Samaria with “those people.”
The miracle of Christmas, the story we long to hear every year, is not a story just for two thousand years ago, nor for some unknown number of years in the future. It is the story we take with us each day we go out into the world. It is the story that tells us, longs for us to watch for it in every face, every activity, every nook and cranny in our world.
It is a story that prays we will allow it to displace us a bit from our comfort, our complacency, our preconceptions, our “it's always been that way”.
It is, in fact, the story that we hope will somehow change us, so that we too will recognize God’s Love wherever it pops up. And maybe even one day, hear the angels sing in the night.
May it change us this night.
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